


What's Hidden Behind The Bottle (Working Title)

by AmaranthTalmage



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: 19th Century, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Erotica not smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Historical Accuracy, I will go down swinging to ensure it's known, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period-Typical Racism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slow Burn, Trans People in 19th Century DID Exist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-01-31 10:36:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18589528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmaranthTalmage/pseuds/AmaranthTalmage
Summary: It was a massive family that had spawned Goodnight Robicheaux, born in Louisiana with a silver spoon and a penchant for the finer things in life. Pillars of the community, strong Alpha blood with the exception of the Omegan mother Goodnight held so dear. But when Goodnight Presented as something other than an Alpha, in the privacy of his room, he realized that the family would never accept who he was. Running off, innocent and afraid into the War of Northern Aggression had proved not just to be some wicked salvation, but an everlasting Hell.Billy Rocks had stepped onto the boat a child, and left it as a commodity. He took every beating, every lesson, and the grace given to him by his family to become better. What gave him the strength to finally break free of his bonds and disappear into the West was his newly minted status as an Alpha. A slave Alpha's fate was dire, bleak at best, but there was still spirit enough in Billy to become more than that. With blood on his hands, he burns through hate to build his legacy.One day, he meets a drunk Confederate Cajun that has the strangest ability to temper his rage.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Magnificent Seven A/B/O AU that no one but myself has ever asked for!  
> Unbeta'd, a work in progress.  
> Sure, others weren't excited to see an A/B/O of Billy and Goodnight, but I was curious to see if I could make it work. I hope folks like it, perhaps offer up constructive criticism or kudos that'll spur me towards future chapters, I'm eager to see other's opinions. If... ya know... they're not hateful or violent. So, I ask, if you're inclined towards anger.... Well, my daddy used to say, 'If you can't say something nice, don't say it at all.' My daddy said a lot of things....

**PROLOGUE:**

**Spark Into Embers**

* * *

 

_The night was warm, too warm. Perhaps it was the fever in his skin talking, pulling him struggling out of a deep, comfortable sleep. He could feel his blood boiling as it ran through his veins, tingling like opium as he writhed in the sheets. This Louisiana 'Indian Summer' really was too much, it was supposed to be October, cooling as the streets lined with revelers seeking to capture the magic of the oncoming Hallow'een, or the following All Saint's Day, really any reason to throw celebration into the face of the night. Every molecule in his body trembled, hummed with the sound of the breeze through the open window. Throwing a pillow over his face to contain his moans, his fingers fisted in the hem of his nightshirt as it pulled higher, baring his naked flesh to the wind that whipped the curtains in the clear light of the moon. Through clenched teeth, the young man growled for something, begged to strip all from his skin so that nothing touched, and then begged for nothing but hands upon him. Begged for answers._

_'What is this?' his mind finally formed the words, louder than gunpowder in his head, and his ears ached from even that phantom sound. Was this an illness? He could call his nanny, she still served this household, despite the rest of the 'help' having been let go in the light of recent political upheaval. It had been a command of his mother's, one of the few of hers that their father obeyed; a marriage of convenience, and yet, the man loved her so. The woman had refused to leave the only family she knew, the children she had helped rear, grown men she now held affection for. But if the woman had walked into the room, she would have been scandalized to see the young man on the sheets, nude and writhing under his own touch, breathing erratically as his hands moved under their own volition._

_Just as his hands wrapped around the girth of his burning manhood, his eyes shot open to the shadows, disappointment and shame flushing crimson across his delicate cheekbones to the tips of his ears. Fear coiled in his gut. He'd seen his brothers endure their rut, and while they'd burned with fevers, they had become violent, angry and destructive and had to be restrained. Here he lay, just shy of his twentieth year and having yet to Present, until now. This was not the rut of an Alpha, this was the wanton dance of something other than, and he knew Betas who had never gone through a trial this painful, this deliriously aroused. Tears coursed down his face, losing themselves in the barely grown beard he'd been cultivating. Tears caught in the shells of his ears as he ground his head back into the pillows, begging for this to be just another nightmare. His brothers, all Alphas, all powerful, all pillars of the community. What would the town think, when Mr Robicheaux introduced the only son to become... to Present as..._

_To be an Omega?_

_He'd spent his entire life, watching as his father and brothers nearly spat upon the 'rabble, lower class, lesser people', little better than slaves, in their opinions. He'd been raised that Alphas were the natural superior, and with the exception of their mother and their nanny, and that it was only natural to use them to further their ends. And now, here he lay, begging for release like a feline in heat, howling into a pillow as he worked himself to completion. His father would be mortified, and he would be lucky if his brothers didn't... use them to further their own desires, or show dominance. If he were lucky, they would kill him outright. It would be better than he deserved, if only his Presentation were nothing more than the twist of the Fates' hands. He'd had no control over this turn of events, and still, the guilt ate at him. How would those Betas and Omegas look at him now, walking down the street, seeing that he had treated them no better than his family, and then became one of them?_

_The aggression between North and South was growing to a head. There would be war. If he left now, hours before the dawn, he could be gone without a trace, left to join the many anonymous faces that had disappeared into the mounting fight. He could fade away, maybe even prove that, even if he had Presented WRONG, he could still be all the Alpha he was raised to be. That he was something more than a secondary sex. If he were truly lucky, his heat wouldn't even happen often enough that he could hide away, alone, for a few days, a week at most. Isn't that what he'd seen? Other Omegas who's heats had happened so rarely, if even once a year, and would fade back into obscurity after a few days if left unslaked? That was for the best._

_After he pulled another tearful climax from his aching body, Goodnight ran to gather belongings. Pulling on his clothes over his fevered body was a teeth-clenching agony, but he managed it with fear to fuel his movements. He sucked in a few steadying breaths as the room began to swirl and hurried to the washstand to drain a few glasses of water, dehydrated by the heat he radiated, and the hurriedly fastened his vest, gun belt, and waistcoat before he gathered a few more things; another outfit, blanket, money he'd put aside and a bankbook, to access anything else before he would undoubtedly be cut off soon. His mind reeled as he concluded that he would withdraw all he could in the bank in the next town, a few hours fast ride, and then sink it into an anonymous account elsewhere. Yes, a plan!_

_His boots in hand, he threw socked feet over the edge of the window and quietly dropped onto the gently sloped roof beneath. He padded to the end of the porch roof, then climbed the trellis down. It was when he landed he heard the soft singing of his nanny, her sweet, deep voice humming as she sat next to the stove in the kitchen, neatly stitching. He watched her for a few wide-eyed moments, rocking in her chair, before he turned towards the stables._

_"Aller quelque part, fils?" she murmured quietly, finishing her stitch and turning her wise chocolate eyes towards him. He could feel her gaze burning a hole in his back and the muscles tensed, erratic breathing returning and hitching in his throat as his shoulders trembled. "Oh, ma fils," she whispered. He could hear her lift out of the chair and carefully stride to him, her hands raised in placation. "Shh, now, ma cher, it's alright..."_

_Goodnight bit into his lip until he could taste blood, his head sagging against his chest as he fought to stifle the sob. His eyes were closed tight, tight against the judgement, the anger, the blame, so tight that he jumped when he felt her large, calloused palms smooth over his bicep. "Shh, none of that now, garcon, none of that." Her touch, motherly and kind, soothed his burning and he sank into her arms as she enveloped him, rocking him as she did for so many years. "It's alright. It's gonna be alright, cher."_

_"....no," he keened painfully into her shoulder to muffle the noise, just in case of his family waking. "It really won't! Look at me..." He pushed against her, held her at arms length, looking up at her through his lashes. "I'm... I'm a..."_

_"What?" she growled playfully, though her accent deepened. It always did when she chided him. "You ain' nothin' but the boy I raised, growin' into a fine man in front of me. You something other than your gender, hear? What you born as don' make no difference who YOU are, ma fils. An Alpha, their power is on the outside. An Omega, we sneaky, our power is hidden, quiet."_

_He looked up at her now, incredulous. Of course, she would be able to smell it on him, thick powerful pheromones radiating from his sweated body. "What do... where can I go?"_

_She shook her head solemnly, looking over him with a sorrowful look, as if this would be the last time she saw someone she loved. Of course, it had been no secret that Goodnight had been her favorite. "I don' know, baby, I don' know. But, I won' leave you to go hungry and empty handed," she finally whispered before brushing past him to disappear back into the kitchen. When she returned some minutes later, it was with a satchel full of rations and bullets, and his best rifle over her shoulder. She passed it all to him, helping him get situated before stepping back and running hands over his shoulders and arms, straightening the suit. "You'll be alright, gentil garcon." She pulled him into a tight embrace and he sighed as it soothed the burning in him, if only by fractions. "Now you ride," she murmured in his ear and pressed a kiss to his temple. "You take that she-demon mare of yours and you ride and you don' look back, not til you're the only Robicheaux standing, ya hear?" She pulled back and cupped his cheek in her rough palm. "An' you remember, ALWAYS remember, your mama, she loves you, no matter what. No. Matter. What." She pressed a kiss to each of his tear-moistened cheeks and pushed him away. "Go on now, git," she mumbled, her voice breaking as she jerked her head towards the stables._

_As his mare, Cherie, flew into the night, he knew he could feel her watching from the kitchen, but his eyes were drawn to an upper-story window, the eyes of his mother glistening in the moonlight as he melded into the shadows._

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

_'Byeol-Li' became 'Billy' when the ship docked and he was tossed into the writhing mass of bodies, marked, named, priced, and sold like a side of beef. He was a commodity, scooped up when the men came and promised his family a better living in this 'New World'. It was only half through the voyage overseas, cramped in berths under the deck, that he realized he had been sold into indentured service. Scraping the bare edges of puberty, not even a man, and he'd been turned into a thing. All he had were the clothes on his back, a few heirlooms from his mother, and the martial arts his father had been teaching him as he grew. Nothing mattered, however, when the ship rubbed against the docks and the mooring ropes cast off. He had hurried to hide the few precious items upon his person that he could, even swallowing a few of the smaller things, until he was roughly dragged into the smog-choked light of a San Francisco morning and thrown into even rougher hands. They poked and prodded without dignity, assessing his worth, and he kept quiet. Always quiet. When asked for his name, someone else mercifully answered for him as he focused into the distance, trying to hang onto the anger and determination, seek solace inside, remove himself from here and become a stone._

_"No surname? Wha... 'ese damn slant-eyes, buncha chinks, cain't be bothered ta have decent, God-fearin' Christian names, always some sorta gobbledy-gook heathen tongue-twister yin-yang bullshit..." someone growled, emphasizing what seemed like every other word as if he were chanting, or merely enjoying the sound of his own voice._

_"Well, lookit 'im, he dum'er'n a box of rocks," another answered, "...cain't be assed to garble some answer, he gotta be some kinda idjit," the other barked with a laugh. "Give'm that name!"_

_So, he became Billy Rocks, sold into homes as a steward, or an errand boy, or something in some household where he watched Asians and blacks and Hispanic alike subjugated to all forms of demeaning work. Here, the demarcation between the secondary sexes was far more prominent than it was at home. There, Betas or Omegas held status, power, strength. Your worth was tied between male and female. Omegas and Betas were respected back home, seen as necessary in order to make the world work, all parts making one whole. Here, females could hold status, but no Omega held worth beyond satisfying appetites or bearing children. They were disposable, mere property. Disgusting. It was sickening to watch anyone used in such a manner, and he prayed that he would never become the kind of man that treated someone so disturbingly, merely based on the happenstance of birth._

_It was in the darkness of the rooms he slept in or in the fields he worked that he pushed himself to maintain his strength, speed and skill. He always knew that he'd be destined for something greater than menial labor. Each time someone spat upon him or cried out in disgust at his skin or eyes or hair, he counted. They would pay. His work in the morning might have suffered, he might have earned an extra lashing or two, but it only helped him find the strength to keep training long into the night, throwing knifes into trees or where no one else would think to look, honing himself until his shirtsleeves hid thick, corded muscle. Callouses along his knuckles, built by endurance and painful treatment, would protect him in case he had to use fists. He had thought no one would see him, but he thought he had caught the eye of one of the older ladies of the household. She had to be at least ten years his senior, sharp and witty, obedient to the Masters. She had been on the plantation for her whole life, a child when brought to help tend to any of the less than "manly needs" in the home, and later used to slake the Master's lust when he had failed to convince a woman to wed him._

_It was in the darkness of his berth in a crowded bunkhouse, full of slaves, where he'd began that he first felt the boiling beneath his blood. The already-thin sheets tore easily between his fingers and he gnashed his teeth, growling as he arched off the bed. He could feel the drool on his chin, cooling his fevered skin, and he begged for more. A rage unlike any he had ever displayed, the rage that he had worked so hard to bury until the time was right surged to the surface. He'd worked so hard to quash it, and now, it began to snake to the surface like crude oil, black and foul. The burning pooled in his loins, stirring reactions he had never had time, never had the desire to consider until now. He howled into the crook of his arm as he threw it over his face, panting like a wild beast. This wasn't the discipline he'd learned as a child, his father's prideful smile just a comforting blur now. Any discipline he had left threatened to break. His legs and arms were a flurry of movement as he tumbled from the bed, whimpering like a child. For the first time in a while, he begged to go home, back to Korea, back to his mother who would take him into her arms and soothe him._

_It wasn't until cool, soft hands cupped his cheeks did he realize that he was backed into a corner, seething at the gathered, many curious but most fearful, before him. Gentle eyes, black as his own, looked down upon him with kindness and wisdom, the older slave that had secretly watched him train, Asian like him, but she smelled different than himself. She smelled... mesmerizing. Perfect. All of his focus was on her now. Wide-eyed, he watched every careful, calculated movement, twitch of muscles, flickering light in her eyes. Had she known what was going to happen, been able to see or smell what he would become? Had the sense grown stronger the closer he got to this outburst?_

_The woman spoke his own language, haltingly. It was clear that she hadn't spoken in some time and had forgotten the accent. "You'll be alright, sweet treasure. You'll be fine. I know it hurts now. If you'll permit me, I can help."_

_Finally, Billy found his voice, remembered to speak Korean. "What... is happening to me?" he ground out through clenched teeth. His whole body trembled with each rivulet of sweat that ran down his back and chest._

_"Oh, my dear, you've never seen another Present?" All Billy could do was shake his head until the spinning got to him, and he lay it against the wall he sat slumped against. Her voice was a lullaby, a song that echoed inside of him. He watched her through his dark lashes, until the tears began blurring his vision."Of course not, traded like pretty paper before you knew what was happening around you. Shh, now, dear one," she whispered, speaking to him as if he were a spooked animal, thumbing away his tears. "Been so long from home, from security, I understand."_

_"Why...?" he growled. He tried to make his voice softer. He could feel the trepidation, the raw fear washing over him from the onlookers, and he tried hard not to growl at them for their audacity. For staring at him like the men on the dock, like he was an animal sent to auction. But he knew that they were only looking at something within him that had visited upon each of them some kind of hurt. He kept their gazes, trying to convey that he was NOT those people, he was something else, something better and more humane than..._

_Than the Alpha he had become._

_His skin burned except where the older woman touched. Any other time, he would never have looked her way, but now his body fought for release and he pressed into the woman's arms. "Shh, dear boy. It's nothing but the natural flow of the body, nothing you've done..."_

_"...help," he breathed against the skin of her neck where he could smell the pheromones the strongest and he melted when he felt her fingertips run through his messy black hair._

_"Come," she said, taking his hand. She rose to her feet slowly, unwilling to spook the fledgling Alpha by quick, erratic movement, and pulled him into a private room out of the fearful stares of his fellow slaves. "Let us tend to you, then we may answer your questions, poor boy."_

_It was in the light of a single candle, on a threadbare bed where Billy lost his innocence, taken under the wing of a wiser and more experienced Omegan as she taught him the details of his new designation. Comfort women were not uncommon back in Korea, and they were in abundance here, to be sure, but the women of the East were far cleaner, classier, were strong and used their station as a means to educate and cure, not as some sexual panacea. Here, they were loud, often diseased, had no sense of self-worth. This woman, he had never learned her name, seemed to understand and sated his animalistic lust safely with touch and tongue and hand, but never teeth. Teeth were ownership, and he'd never subject another to that. In the blind passion that followed, able to find satisfaction in at least marking her sun-kissed skin with nips and the dark spots he had sucked into her flesh, he became aware of his knot, and she eased his fear with soft kisses and words. A knot is what all Alphas endured, she said, the physical manifestation of their secondary sex. Everyone had to endure something, whether it be an Omegan heat, a Beta's weak hormones that left them all too often androgynous, or an Alpha's rut and knot. When he feared impregnation, she assured him that she could never bear young again. He didn't press, it was a story many women he'd met had told; whether by bad childbirth or harsh treatment, they'd been rendered infertile. After their coupling, he had proven to be a generous lover, answering the woman's purrs with his own as he lavished attention upon her. He held her tightly, softly ghosting his hands over her skin as he nuzzled at her jawline. His fingers gently traced over the scars on her back and his anger rose once again. Once freed, he cared for her as if she were her own, even if she were not, not truly. However, she was his First, and he had been blessed to be eased into this so lovingly by an experienced hand._

_The woman was a masterful teacher. She taught him how to properly approach the gentler folk, how to treat them with respect and kindness, and he never intended to treat them otherwise, not after having seen what white Alphas did to anyone below them. She taught him the finer things, and he absorbed it all until it became him. Last of all, she taught him what their Master would do to Alphas that developed under their hand. Calm, obedient Alpha slaves were often sold as cattle into breeding more stock, assured they would produce stronger offspring, but most were taken into the fields to die, murdered, culled, seen as a threat to the masters. She wove to him dreams of Alpha slaves having escaped into the wilderness to strive against nature and become powerful people, fanning the flames of his hopes of something beyond his station. And finally, she taught him their Master's schedule._

_The flames roared. From atop his former Master's best stud, he watched the flames of the house dance into the sky, as if they were happy to have finally broke through from Hell and were ecstatic to at last be able to reach towards the Heavens. He could see the gathered slaves, freed from their bondage, celebrating in dance and song around the catastrophe he had caused. It would take hours for someone to reach from the nearest town, and even then, the bodied within the wreckage would never be found. He was thorough in his work, boldly walking through the doors and slinging a blade deep into anyone that was a threat. When he had finally worked his way to the Master's room, he opened the door with ease to see the man violating an Omegan male that had been deemed to fragile for field work. The bastard had leaped off of the poor boy in a rage, only to freeze at the silhouette in the doorway. Billy had no intention to make this quick, but he needed the son of a bitch to stay where he was, so he pinned the man's foot to the floor with a blade and carefully, slowly, made his way to the boy. He knew the boy would see him as a threat, his scent thick and fearful in his rampage and the boy already traumatized by the Master's abuse. It took everything the woman had taught him to coax the boy into a protective embrace. Billy gathered the slave in his arms and asked if he wanted to stay, wanted to watch, even wanted to participate in this revenge, and bless the child, but he was too gentle for this kind of thing. With the pained howls of the Master behind him, he stepped into the hall and beckoned to one of the curious house-servants that had followed to watch, to take him. The boy had to be no more than thirteen, his pained and terrified pheromones leaving behind a wake of sickening sorrow that grew in Billy's gut and erupted into a howl of rage as he flew back into the bedroom. The Master wouldn't hurt anyone, not anymore._

_Billy Rocks wheeled the spirited stud and the horse roared, rearing back on his hind legs to paw at the night. He had a new strength that thundered through him, power that ached to be freed into wide opened spaces, and new purpose. He never wanted to see those fearful eyes of a slave again, any slave, pushed, beaten, and raped into something that he could have been, what that servant-boy was. If it were in his power, he'd free them all. This was what he was brought to America to do, he felt the Fates working their way now in opening the road ahead to this life. It would be hard, but he knew 'hard'. He'd lived it for nearly a decade, since he had been brought to these shores, and nothing could have been harder than what he was leaving behind._

_One lone figure stood out from the revelry, still against the flames as it looked towards him. He could feel the eyes in the distance, watched transfixed as the image raised a hand in thanks, in farewell, in a thousand wishes for the luck of the gods to be with him. That kindly woman who had given him his first taste of freedom, and urged him to pursue it, his but not his, as there would never be a mark of ownership for him. But his, a soothing balm when there could have been pain or worse. It had truly been the luck of the gods that had had him Present in the company of his fellow former slaves._

_That woman watched him as he disappeared into the night, becoming but one of the many shadows backlit by the inferno that swallowed the master's house and melting into the midnight mass around them. She smiled, she would smile every time she read the paper and saw his name. Newly freed into the roiling Asiatic masses of the nearest big town, melding into the population that welcomed her despite her secondary gender, as was Asian custom, she was welcome to walk along the muddied roads. The Wanted poster brought tears to her eyes, fearful for that boy she had eased into manhood, forever loving the youthful face that looked back. With a flourish, she tore the poster down and spirited it away to her own home, where it kept a place of honor on her wall of memories._


	2. From Embers to Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More or less, a filler chapter.  
> Don't expect too much historical accuracy here, kids. This had all started in fun, anyways, and that's where we are.   
> Beware a little underage situation here, but no worries, our Alpha Hero sorts it out quick.  
> Un-beta'd  
> (snicker! bad pun not intended)

_Alphas were all too easy to identify. Male or female, their secondary sex was simple to determine by their mannerisms. They all presented themselves with an aggressive air, arrogant and forceful in everything they did. They were the loud ones, the brash and crude, unashamed and unaccustomed to any form of decorum, for the most part. If there had been some proper etiquette, then they tended to positively glow with their entitled grace, looking down their noses upon a world of people that were obviously for their use. They were often stronger and faster, more physically able to hold down anyone of their choosing, more able to take without care of their object of desire, without permission, without concern. Their aggression would often manifest in bouts of territorial dispute, and blood only fueled their feral rage. They were too often subject to their hormones, blinded by the rut that would overtake them if they caught the faintest scent of an Omega in heat or openly approached on their own territory. When the rut took over, it became impossible to see through the beast to the human inside, and many an Alpha had found themselves knocked unconscious and sleeping it off in the "drunk tanks" at the Sheriff's Office. Or maiming a poor Omega in their addled lust._

_Omegas were often just as easy to spot. Quiet, meek, loners that tended to cling to the corners of any shadow they could find, or gather to other Omegas for safety in numbers. Male or female, they were often of smaller build, not so prone to the thick musculature or heavy brows, powerful shoulders and large hands. No, Omegas were lithe, willowy, often fragile creatures who, despite had little to no physical bulk, were gifted in their own right. An Omega's eyes were sharp, sharper than any human had a right to be. Their other senses were just as powerful, with a sense of smell that could warn them ahead of time of approaching Alphas. They could hear as well as any canine, able-bodied spies that could easily hear through walls, if one focused. They were dexterous, with fingers that were delicate enough to sew fine clothing or stitch together a wounded patient with a speed that defied and amazed many. If an Alpha's abilities were physical prowess, an Omega's lie in intelligence, in their photographic memories and their thirst for learning. An Omega's mind would always yearn to know MORE. Where libraries and universities were built, Omegas would gather._

_Betas were, altogether, a mystery. Most were androgynous by nature and appearance, and unlike Alpha and Omega, their appearances varied greatly. Hormones were unbalanced, and often lead to an individual being suspended between the binary hands of "male and female", or simply existed outside of any definition. A female Beta could be found dressed in trousers and leathers, gun heavy at their side whilst being attended to in a barber's chair. A male Beta could very well cut a delightful figure in a corset and bustle. With Betas, the influx of hormones tended to fluctuate, leaving a Beta with more Omegan traits, or prone to Alpha tendencies. Many chose to forego pronouns, casting off the heavy binary designations and lived without those words. Most failed to give a viable damn about any labels, choosing to just ignore anything that didn't involve them directly. They were welcome additions to any Pack; Alphas appreciated their thick skin, their durability, reliability. Betas were notoriously hard to kill. Betas that befriended Omegas often fell to protecting them, caring for them as if the Omega belonged to them. While a Beta might secretly yearn for the kinds of attention an Omega might garner, they were disgusted with the lack of control the rut brought, and felt pity for unmated and unwilling Omegas who found themselves cornered and hurt. The Beta's backstories were often wrought with tragedy, and they could sympathize with a victimized individual. The vast majority of Betas were runaways, cast from disappointed homes or orphaned, left to themselves when they began to question their identities. Their fathers wanted sons, their mothers wanted daughters, and Betas... The skin they were born in refused to take the shape of their dreams, and refused to fulfill familial expectations. Whether they chose Alphas or Omegas as their companions, they lived outside of the ravenous hormonal split of secondary sexes._

* * *

 

 

Had it been a month? Maybe two? Goodnight Robicheaux had ceased counting, only tracking his life through miles away from home, and he was far from Louisiana. Far from his mother's worry and his father's scorn. Far from comfort and a full belly. He shied away from contact, running to cover when others joined him on the road to anywhere. Circling towns, he watched from afar, camp set far enough away that his tiny campfire could be hidden, but not far enough that he couldn't see lit windows of homes and businesses. Just close enough to miss that hot bath and hot meal. He was filthy, dirtier than he had ever been in his life, and it disgusted him. What he would give for clean clothes, a soft bed, even to tame the messy growth upon his face. But he remembered the pain and fear of his first Heat, his Presentation, and the terror that ran through him at the thought of a random Alpha taking advantage of his slim build shook him enough that he stayed back. 

When dawn came, he gathered his things and continued East. He listened to the talk of people as they passed by his hiding spot in the undergrowth, how the threat of war grew with each day. The South stood to lose considerable economic strength and independence in losing their labor, and though many agreed, many even freed their own and began instead to offer pay and land for their continuing assistance, the Southern Bureaucracy had all the power to make decisions without consideration to this concept. Prehistoric minds remained steadfastly sure that they were entitled, and anyone that lacked their "moral fiber" were simply not worth their thoughts. This had lead to the push for greater laws restricting Alphas, or what they deemed as an affront to their very biology and the "will of God". What it really came down to was, those in power had no care for Omega protections, more concerned with keeping costs down and labor, free. Slaves. And Omegas made the best slaves, on the plantation or in the bed. Most were disgusted that some Yankee would dare impose his morals upon the arrogant Bureaucracy, the man was a shame to Alphas everywhere, looking to change a way of life that had existed for ages, impress his territorial rights on lands and people he had no business governing. Of course, it would make sense, knowing that the Bureaucrats were Alpha themselves, every one. 

Goodnight thought he might be sick. The war in his mind, the war threatening his home, he was tired and his body sore from living on the road. His stomach gnawed angrily, and he looked to town once more. It had been so long since his heat, he would be safe, right? And if he approached the back door of the boarding house, they would surely take pity...

"Hey."

Goody jumped, spinning to look into the dusky woods that surrounded him, his hands closing upon his rifle and snapping it up in seconds towards the voice. Two hands emerged from the brush, held up in surrender. He was shocked that his voice and hands stood steady as he leveled the sight directly between the upraised hands. "Step out now. Lemme see ya..." he drawled in a low growl, an attempt to seem threatening.

The bushes rustled for a moment as the individual wrestled with the offending brush. "Goddamn... stupid ass... piece of... tree, whatever the fuck this is..." Hands still raised in supplication, a man stepped out from the darkening foliage. Goody's head cocked to the side, his brows furrowed in confusion as the man, roughly half his size, tumbled into the tiny clearing. "Yeah, yeah, go ahead an' look, get it outta yer system, then you can talk like a normal human being," the man huffed with a smirk, his voice the sound of wheels over gravel. The small man was bald, thickly built with a powerful neck that lead down into a heavily muscled trunk hidden by his oversized tunic, the sleeves rolled up to expose impressive forearms. It was messily tucked into a pair of black wool trousers that could have been for a child, suspenders haphazardly thrown over his shoulders. "'Eh. You mind?" When Goody could only give him a baffled stare, he sighed and rolled his eyes, painfully articulating each word as if Goodnight were deaf and dumb. "Can I lower my hands now, please?"

Goody's nostrils flared as he fought down the panic, trying to catch a scent of threat or deception and his eyes darted about the clearing, ears straining to catch the sounds of movement. Slowly he lowered his rifle and nodded frantically, remembering his manners. "Uh... uh, yeah," he stammered. "Yes, of course."

The man smiled brightly, showing off a row of brilliantly gleaming teeth. Goody caught the wink of a gold tooth or two, he couldn't be sure in the dying light. "Thank ya kindly, sir. Right nice, once you, ya know, dispense with the fixin' ta kill me and all." Goodnight watched every move like a hawk, but the man seemed to understand, moving slowly as he fished out a stub of a cigar and clamped it between his teeth. "So, Imma have me a sit-down, alright? No fast moves or nothin'. Here I go," he murmured, making sure to keep his hands in sight as he lowered himself to the ground. "Jus' wanted some peace and quiet from... ya know..." The man jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Assholes."

Despite himself, Goody smiled, a slow, cautious thing as he lowered himself to the ground. The sat across the small mound he had been building for his campfire, light and warmth even if he had nothing to roast over it. The man seemed devoid of scent. ' _Beta?'_ his mind helpfully supplied. "What, erm... What're you doing here?" he mumbled, still fearful as he watched the man light his cigar.

"Ah, well," the other man growled as he blew a cloud of acrid smoke into the air. "Trying to get a few moments to m'self, took a walk, heard some noise and got curious. And bob's yer uncle, there you are." The man seemed to study him through narrowed eyes, sharp and glittering dangerously though Goodnight felt no threat still. "Lemme guess. Ran and hiding."

The lump of memory and misery in Goody's chest threatened to rise from his throat and he ducked his head to hide the burning in his eyes. Closing them tightly, however, did nothing but summon the ghost of his mother, watching her baby boy ride into the night for the last time. Did she worry for him? Did she miss him? Did his father? No, he knew the answer to that one. A shame. A disgrace. A laughingstock of the community. With him gone, they could put up the pretense of him being sent away to a fine military school like his brothers, or on sabbatical for any number of reasons acceptable to Alpha society. His father had been so good with lies and excuses. "That obvious?" he smirked painfully, opening his eyes to glare hatefully at his tattered and smeared clothing. His voice was far too choked to push more words from his lips and his shoulders trembled with the weight of his pain.

"Hey..." the man breathed, slowly standing with his hands up to show no threat. "Hey, now..." Even as gravelly as it was, it was a soothing tone with a soft purr underlining his words. Goodnight found himself paralyzed as the man cautiously stepped to his side of the unlit fire until he was finally at the Omega's side. "Shh, you'll be okay, it's alright now," he cooed as he gently rested his calloused palms on Goodnight's shoulders. He couldn't hold himself from slowly leaning into the contact until the man had his sinewy arms wrapped around him, holding him against his barrel chest as he sobbed. "Alright, now... I gotcha, kid, I'll take care of ya... You ain't gotta run no more..." the man purred as he ran his stubby fingers through the Cajun's unwashed and unruly mane. "Yer gonna be alright. Ol' Dobson's gonna take care of ya." The man knelt down beside him with a handkerchief and carefully wiped at his reddened cheeks. "That's me. Dobson's m' name. Got a safe place, warm bed, warm meal, all o' that. Would you be up for that sorta thing?"

Goodnight nodded. The man had no threat upon him. In fact, if Goody could concentrate enough, he could smell other Omegas upon him, he could feel security in this man's presence, and Lord, did he miss the comforts of security. They stood and Goody collected his things silently, trembling in trepidation as he took the other man's hand. His chest shook with each rattling breath and his heart felt ready to burst from his chest, but he followed Dobson through the trees, stepping over logs and cypress stumps that threatened to snag his dragging feet. He was so tired, so damned tired from running and starving and hiding, his head spun when the trees opened up to reveal a colorful wagontrain. "A.... a circus?" he huffed in bewilderment. Of course, a Pack of outcast wanderers would find him. As he was pulled closer, he saw people juggling and others dancing upon their hands, just what had he gotten himself into, following this man?

"DOBSON!!" a gruff, feminine voice bellowed from within one of the wagons. Goodnight focused on the wooden walls of the wagon, it's sides painted with ornate depictions of the man he followed and a larger being in a dress and... beard? "Dobson, where've y' gone now? I swear, iffn ya've gone off and..." The head that poked out from within the wagon's door was feminine enough, dimples and sweet, rosy cheeks, full lips peeking out from an impressively groomed beard and mustache. Her face immediately softened when she saw the worn man still trailing behind Dobson. "Oh, precious, what did you find?" she cooed softly, sliding her large, voluptuous frame to the ground before them. Her purr was just as soft and comforting as she held out an arm towards him. "Come here, darlin', it's alright." Goody's legs were shaky, but he felt the pull towards her motherly invitation and he fell into her, breathing erratically. "Oh, no, baby, it's alright now, you're gonna be alright now," she whispered as she ran a hand down his back to comfort him. She smelled sweet, like home, like his happy youth, sunshine memories, and he melted against her. He could feel himself falling apart in her embrace as she shushed his sobs. "Yer gonna be just fine now, baby."

Goodnight Robicheaux begged that no one discover his real name, not with the possibility that anyone from home could be looking for him. A slew of Alpha brothers, he could just imagine what would happen in they found him. But with regular comforts, regularly fed and bathed and comfortable, he threw himself into any work the traveling band might need. He built muscle, growing finally into a man in the protection of eclectic people and finding his strength in their worldly knowledge. He learned respect, what it felt like to be respected, and he learned how to stand up for himself. He sharpened his skills with his rifle, able to take any shot presented to him. He was a marvel to behold with a firearm, but he refused to take the stage. He didn't want to chance that someone he knew might be in the small crowds they gathered, or even worse, an Alpha in rut. His heat had mercifully stayed away, but the fear remained.

Fall was drawing to a close. Nearly a year in the company of Dobson and his wife, Althea, and they found themselves in North Carolina. A few last shows before heading to Florida to winter there. A town of people like them, Dobson had said wistfully as he leaned back against his wagon and finished his cigar after the night's closing. It was here that Goodnight learned that he was no Beta at all. The man had been born an Omega, and tossed out when the nature of deformity became clear. Althea, his wife, was a Beta with traits more associated with Alphas, but had the comforting aura of an Omega, that motherly feeling that enveloped Goodnight when she saw him. The year he'd spent traveling, he'd sensed no one's heat, sensed nothing amiss with any of their companions, and Dobson guffawed with some secret he had been keeping to himself.

"Oh, dear boy! Whiskey!" he howled, slapping his leg. "Enough whiskey, and no one can smell a thing on ya! The alcohol clouds them knotheads something fierce!" With that, Dobson handed him the flask in his pocket, a beautiful silver thing embellished with a fleur di lis. "Got this over in L'weezy-Anna down yer ways. Go on, my boy. That's yers now."

Goodnight looked up at him in wonder, in admiration, in love. This strange man had taken him in, made him Pack, family, and he was ashamed to admit that Dobson had been more his father than his own flesh and blood. "Thank you," he murmured meekly, running his fingers over the silver and finely tooled leather. "It's... it's beautiful."

Dobson nodded and leaned back against the wagon. "This life isn't for you, son," he sighed, blowing his cloud into the air. "We love ya, we'll always take you in, but I can see something more in you. We were always a means to an end, yeah?"

Goody looked up at him in questioning. "What do you mean?"

The other man sighed. "There's more for you out there. You've grown into a fine man, a skilled man. You've the means to protect yourself, and finally the backbone to do it. What I'm saying is, there's a fine university near here. Maybe, you take that brilliant head of yers, make yerself into something useful other than a hand in a wagontrain of freaks." Goody took a breath to protest, but Dobson held up his hand. "Now, now, I'm not saying for ya to piss off and go back into the woods, son, I'm saying, you've got the potential for more. We've got ya this close, but you gotta take those last steps on yer own."

And Goody knew it was true. Unless he could gather the strength to stand up on his own, get to the university, there was a better life than shuffling through the mud for the shrinking crowds for change. He was happy here, but there was something that left him unsatisfied. A challenge unanswered in his mind, and Dobson had pushed him across the country to help him find his answers. Taking a swig from the flask, he felt it numb his lips, burning as it traveled down his throat. He could feel the warmth spread through his body, he could almost feel the deadening of his senses, of his own scent. 

"Now go on." Dobson stood and took Goodnight's shoulders in his thick hands. His glittering eyes burned as they studied his own sky blue. "Get thee hither to higher learnin', my boy."

With war on the horizon and unrest in the towns they had traveled through, Goodnight gathered his things once more and mounted the horse given to him. He threw a look of longing back towards the family that had taken him in, made him one of their own, and held his head high as he made his way to the college. He knew better than to enroll under his real name, but the money he had earned in the past year enabled him to settle into this new life, this new intellectual world, even as the world outside slowly began crumbling down.

* * *

 

 

He was a terror. He was fear in the hearts of Alpha overlords, and hope in the eyes of the beaten and lost. Stories began to manifest of his exploits, whether it was all legend, or embellished truth. The indecent truth of it was, people saw his skin, saw his eyes, and suddenly, he was a hundred men, all named, "That damn Chinaman." He reckoned those ignorant twits couldn't even identify Joseon on the map and weren't worth his effort. However, as he rode past farms and plantations, he could see the faces of a dozen colors, a dozen origins far from here, all the same, all human, all in pain. Each flinch he saw from an Omega, each gasp of fear when a slave heard thundering hooves or cracking leather all hardened him to the task at hand.

Another 'Master', another fire, another child spared the auction block.

He sighed. While on one hand, he steeped himself in the blood of slavers with relish, it was a lonely life. He was a legend now, recognizable among the throngs of freed men and women, and it sated him when he needed it, fulfilled that powerful lust that overtook him from time to time, none of it filled that hole in his chest. His heart beat with joy for them all, but the sound seemed too hollow these days. 

He cut an impressive figure, all lithe muscle and sinew, and it was enough to gain the looks from admirers, and find himself a few free drinks in the backwater bars that tended to cater to less... reputable individuals. His thanks for lighting up the night was the bed he looked forward to at night, a large tub full of hot water gladly arranged for him in town after town. And if his Wanted poster ended up disappearing from walls in the dead of night, it was none of his business, not when he opened the door to the room given to him to find a shy young woman sitting upon the narrow bed. Women, men, none mattered when it came time to sate his rut and tame the rage burning in his belly.

He eyed her intensely as he stepped into the room, his nose in the air as he caught the scent of her fear, and deeper than that, arousal. Hero worship bastardized by the rough world they lived in. Misplaced, he wanted to say as he softened his gaze and closed the door behind him. A scenario he'd walked into many times since beginning his blazing path of vigilante justice. The poor Omega on the bed watched his every move, and he made sure to move slowly, willing her to understand that he was no threat, not to her. He put on an air of confidence, hoping that she could sense that she would be safe with him. He could almost feel her from across the room as he crossed to the washbasin. To tell the truth, he was tired of the empty companionship, of brief embraces that lead to nothing. Deep inside, he could feel the draw to something stronger, a desire to find something more... permanent. The instinct was there, beneath his hardened veneer of discipline that kept the powerful beast below. Where it belonged.

He turned his back to her tensed form and removed his suspenders and shirt and began to wash himself, starting with his face. His shoulders squared as he ran a wet flannel around his neck, teasing at that sensitive spot on his neck, that bare, unmarred skin that warmed when he felt the desire for another pull at him. Absently, he wondered what it would feel like beneath his fingers, what it would feel like when knotted up with scars of another's teeth. He knew they wouldn't belong to this woman. The honor didn't belong to any others who had warmed his bed in the past, it didn't belong to the woman that worked him through his Presentation. He'd sworn never to mark another, never to enslave them to himself, but as he grew older, it became clear that the mark was more of a declaration of belonging than ownership, and he while he knew about slavery, knew what it felt to be someone's property, he wondered what it would feel like to properly  _belong_ to someone, to have someone belong to him. 

He hung his head and sighed, looking up through his lashes at the reflection of the woman over his shoulder. "You know, you don't have to do this. Be here. You're free."

The young woman nodded with a shaky breath, looking down at the hands in her lap as they twisted together nervously. "I know," she whispered, her voice far too small, even in this tiny boarding house room. "I... I want to."

He took a deep breath, taking in her scent. There was nothing in him that pulled for more than someone to fill the void next to him. He turned to look at her, his face a mask of imperious calm. He kept his voice gentle, quiet for her sake. His boots made little noise as he crossed to her and knelt before her. He could hear her erratic breaths, he could almost feel her heartbeat fluttering beneath her breast. Carefully, he gathered her hands in his and studied the fingers. So soft, even with the callouses, and it spoke to him of hours of housework. A maid, or even a nanny, in her previous life before freedom, then. But they were young. He lifted her head to look at him with a finger curled beneath her chin and looked deep into her dark brown eyes. A hard life, but a youthful one. "How old are you?" he murmured quietly.

Her wide, chocolate eyes were watery as she stumbled over the words, her lips working to answer him. "I'm...." she averted his gaze nervously. "I'm... fifteen, sir."

He tensed, and she could feel it and answered in kind, but it wasn't towards her. "Answer me true. Why are you here?" There was a threat of a growl in his voice.

She trembled before him and took a few breaths before she could talk. "Some... some of the men... some said you deserved it. Deserved comfort." She caught herself for a moment. "And you do! You- you deserve it for all you've done for us, you're a hero..."

"Stop," he snapped, a growl sneaking past his throat this time, and he damned himself for making her flinch. There was no mistaking his anger now, no mistaking his distaste for these men who would send a child to tend to a man and play upon her innocent idolatry, ill-placed it may be. Let the children have their heroes, their innocence, it's why he took down these 'Masters' among men, slew those who sought to USE anyone that failed to resemble themselves. Now these men he had freed had the intent to use this girl in the same manner. He carefully cupped her cheek in his palms and lowered her to press a chaste kiss to her forehead. "You're alright, child." He lifted her face to look her in the eyes, darkness burning bright within the confines of his gaze. "Now listen to me. You're free. Free. You don't answer to those men who sent you, you don't answer to anyone but yourself. Maybe a mate, if you take one. But you are your own person, and no one has any business using your body for anything out of your consent. Am I clear?" The girl nodded fervently against his palm, a tear escaping to run down her soft, dusky cheek. He smeared it away with his thumb, keeping his voice stern and touch tender. "No one owns you. Understand? Don't ever, ever let anyone pressure you into something you're unsure about. You make your own decisions. It's your body. Not theirs. Got it?" 

The girl suppressed a sob behind her pursed lips, trying to will strength into herself even as she leaned into the touch. He ran his hand over her coarse hair and wrapped his rough palm around the back of her neck, waiting for her to compose herself. As she quieted beneath his touch, he could feel the fear within her dissipate. "Think you're strong enough now to step out there? Head high?"

The girl bat her lashes anxiously. "But... what if they... ask...?" she trailed off quietly.

He grit his teeth, brows furrowing at the thought that others might approach the girl and ask after his approval of their 'gift'. "Tell them to take it up with me," he growled softly and let a bright, sharp canine show through his sneer. She nodded against him again, eyes wide as she contemplated this strange Alpha, this man who had the strength to burn an idea to the ground and yet displayed none of the behavior she'd known any other Alpha to show. Any aggression was tempered with a delicacy that belied a gentle soul. He could see the admiration in her eyes, in the way her fingers laced with his as his one hand still clasped her own. She had never met anyone like him and was likely never to meet another. If only she could see the hardened creature he saw when he looked in the mirror. If she could see the amount of blood he'd bathed in, she would never stare in wonder at him again.

Quietly, he stood and pulled her to her feet and pressed another kiss to her forehead. It was easy, she had to be a few inches shorter than himself. "Now go on, kid. Suggest you find a Pack of Omegas and stick with them. You have some growing to do."

She turned to look at him once more over her shoulder as he closed the door and leaned his back against it. Damn them, he was tired. Tired, sore, and far too sober for this bullshit. What kind of animals had he released into freedom, that would push a child into sexual experiences against her will and so young? He could feel the burning in his gut, not lust but anger. The rut called to him, simmered beneath his skin when he pictured the men he'd released from bondage earlier today. The beast within called for their blood, but nothing good would come of that. Now he was a legend, someone with a reputation that required exhaustive upkeep and that thought alone wore at his powerful shoulders heavier than any world could have. He was disgusted, but if he turned and walked out the door now, there would be bloodshed, and one fewer place he could find shelter. 

His palms stung and he looked down at the weakly weeping crescent marks in his palm where he'd been digging his nails. It was only his blood. Perhaps it was safer to take the wounds into himself when he felt this burn, discretion withstanding. No, this town had worn out it's welcome. He looked at the bath, steam rolling off of the hot water as it beckoned to him. One hot bath, then he would be on the road, out the window and into the night to avoid leering eyes below and sparing the young woman embarrassment. It had been far too long before he had last let his bones soak in comfort.

But as he sank into the water, pushing himself down into the heat to wet his raven hair to rub soap into it, he couldn't shed the nagging feeling of loneliness that ached far more than his muscles did. He closed his eyes and lay back after rinsing the suds from his head and tried to meditate in the quiet moaning of the boarding house's frame as it settled. Did he have a mate out there, destined to him as he would be to them? He wondered over the many faces that had comforted him in the past, but none seemed to really strike him as memorable, only repetitive. Dark skinned, eyes of night, raven haired, delicate and soft with fragile frames that spoke fathoms of a feminine grace. It was becoming old hat to him. Absently, his fingers traced the smooth skin of his neck, where one's scent was strongest, and let out a heavy sigh. His cock had grown heavy between his thighs and seemed to burn hotter than the water he sat in as it called his attention. The faces in his nightmares came to mind, fair skinned and light eyed, and somehow, they called to him. Somehow, they sent a tremor through his veins as he took himself in hand. He couldn't deny that some had been too pretty for their fate but had pushed his hand regardless. What noises would they have made for him, if he had brought them to completion instead of death? Why would the faces of victims past have him moaning as he tightened his grip and began to work himself in earnest? He imagined soft, coral lips wrapped around his manhood, playful green or blue eyes glittering up at him from below and the thought had him swelling in his palm with a soft groan. ' _Breed me_ ,' they would gasp when he hilted himself within their warmth. ' _Breed me. Mate me. Bite... please...'_ they would sob in ecstasy, and the ghosts in his mind forced his orgasm to roll over him as he tightened his hand upon his knot. 

As he caught his breath, he determined that this was merely retribution. This had to be his Hell, damned to only find comfort and release within the ghosts that haunted him. This was fair, he surmised. He'd earned this.

As he opened the window, clothed and packed, he looked back upon the spoiled water with a smirk. Let that be their payment, for trying to cause others pain in his name. He was no saint, nor was he a hero. Just a man stained in blood and the soot of a hundred fires, chained by an idea that he had set into motion to grow quickly out of hand. He may not be able to help every Omega learn how to stand on their own two feet, but he hoped that, in days to come, the girl would grow stronger and find the power to tell others 'No.' There was nothing he could do now but hope. Once he'd walked away into the night, his hands were washed.


End file.
